


the phone rings, your heart sings

by softgrantaire



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wrong Number, Falconer!Jack, M/M, Meet-Cute, Meet-Ugly, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Providence Falconers, Trans Eric "Bitty" Bittle, University Student Bitty
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-26 07:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21370405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softgrantaire/pseuds/softgrantaire
Summary: “Why did you think we were a good match? He sent me a dick pic! In the middle of class! What the fuck do I do?!”Jack chokes on his water and darts his eyes around the locker room.-When Jack gets a phone call from a stranger, he thinks that's the end of it. Except there's some texts, meddling mutual friends, and a big secret.Exactly how long is too long when it comes to hiding your identity?
Relationships: Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann
Comments: 40
Kudos: 283





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Every fandom needs more wrong number AUs, as well as fics where the first line is about dick pics. Also my first Check Please fic!

_ “Why did you think we were a good match? He sent me a dick pic! In the middle of class! What the fuck do I do?!” _

Jack chokes on his water and darts his eyes around the locker room. The person on the phone isn’t someone he recognizes but they sound upset. Which is understandable, after getting a dick pic in the middle of class. Especially since it sounded like an unwanted one, not that Jack would know.

_ “Hello?! Help me! Please! What do I do?!”  _

The voice on the other end of the phone is frantic. It sounds like a man’s voice.

“Is it...a nice um picture?” Jack winces even as he says it. But what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? Tater sends him a confused look but luckily is the only one close enough to hear what Jack’s saying.

_ “I mean...seven out of ten I guess? That’s not the point!”  _ He’s practically screeching by now. Jack hopes he isn't still in class.

“Did you ask for it?” Jack doesn’t know why he’s still on the phone; they’ve just won a hard fought game against the Rangers and he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and ice the newest bruise on his side, not be on the phone with a stranger. He’s too curious to hang up, though.

_ “If I asked for it, do you think I’d be calling you?! And I think he expects one back but obviously I can’t send a picture of my dick back even if I  _ wanted  _ to because that would call for a -” _ he stops with a gasp.  _ “You’re not shitty.” _

“Um, thanks?” Jack furrows his brow. “I like to think I’m an okay guy?” 

_ “No, Shitty’s my friend - oh heck.” _ There’s a sound that may be the man rubbing his hand down his face followed by a quiet groan.  _ “You don’t even sound like him - how did I - I am so sorry.”  _

The man immediately hangs up without another word. Jack stares down at his phone, puzzled, and Snowy looks over at him, raising a brow. Jack normally wouldn’t have answered his phone before he’s showered, or answered an unknown number at all. But he’s been waiting for a call from his neighbor, whose number he doesn’t have. He’s almost positive that the eighty year old woman from next door that watches his dog sometimes wouldn’t be receiving dick pics or have a friend called ‘Shitty’. If he’s wrong, he’s not sure he’ll be able to look Mrs. Simmons in the eye ever again. 

He only just realizes that it wasn't even a Rhode Island area code. He’s lived here for seven years and he hadn’t even thought to check before answering? That hit in the third must have hurt more than he thought; he was almost positive he hadn’t hit his head, but maybe he’ll have to get that checked out.

But the man had hung up, and Jack almost wishes he hadn't. 

Then the phone rings again and it's the same number; Jack answers it before the second ring with a raspy ‘hello’ before clearing his throat and repeating it a bit stronger.

_"I shouldn't have just hung up on you like that.” _The man sounds as if he’s blowing out a slow and deliberate breath._ “I should have at least explained a little. Goodness knows I would have been confused if it'd happened to me."_

Jack hums. "It was a bit confusing, I must admit."

_ “Well, first I’d like to apologize for my language. I’m not usually so crass.” _

“The situation may have called for it, so I’ll forgive it this once.”

_ “How kind,” _ he responds, slightly sardonic.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman.” Jack’s  _ flirting;  _ he knows he is. He’s not sure why he feels comfortable with someone whose name he doesn’t know - though maybe that’s why. No misconceptions, no expectations. Jack suddenly understands why people agree to blind dates; a voice in the back of his mind that sounds vaguely like Kent is laughing at him. Tater’s gotten a bit closer and is now definitely within hearing range, but Jack doesn’t hang up. 

_ “Well, I usually am, too. But this guy I was kinda seeing decided he wanted me to see all of him. And I meant to call my friend but I think I got the area code wrong, which is stupid of me, because I’ve been calling the same area code for almost four years.” _

“Well, I answered it without looking at the area code, so we’re even.”

_ “I still don’t know how I managed to think you were Shitty for so long.” _

“It’s okay - you’re upset. We’ve all been there.”

_ “Have we, though?” _

“Well, no. I can’t say _ I  _ have,” Jack admits. He hates that it’s actually kind of surprising that no one has ever sent him nudes. He blushes to himself at the thought, still not used to his ‘heartthrob status’ or whatever Tater is calling it.

_ “I wouldn’t recommend it,” _ the man groaned. 

“I’ll definitely keep that in mind,” Jack can’t help but smile. He musters up a bit of courage he’s never really had and asks, “Uh, can I at least get a name to go with that bit of advice?”

_ “Bitty.” _ The other man pauses, like he’s questioning if he gave the right name.  _ “Eric. My last name is Bittle, and my friends from college call me Bitty. But - Eric.” _

Maybe if he wasn’t on a hockey team ‘Bitty’ might have fazed him a bit more, but when two of your closest friends are called Tater and Poots, someone being called Bitty is hardly groundbreaking. (Jack almost pats himself on his back for calling Tater and Poots his friends instead of just his teammates; maybe his therapist was right.)

“Nice to meet you, Eric.”

_ “My mama would be so disappointed in me,” _ the man - Eric - sighs.  _ “Not only did I get a dick pic during class, but I called the wrong number, swore at you, and didn’t even introduce myself.” _

“You've managed to get a number about a thousand miles away from home, judging by your accent," Jack muses, tucking his phone between his ear and shoulder so he can tug off the rest of his gear. As captain, he’d had to do a post game interview and still wearing most of his pads sans the ones that protect his shoulders. Most of the team are already pulling on their game day suits in preparation for a night out and Jack sighs internally, knowing they’ll convince him to come out with them.

_ "I'm in Massachusetts, actually. Which is why it’s so bad, I was just trying to call my friend in Cambridge. Same post code and everything." _

Jack is slightly shocked by that. "Huh. I'm in Rhode Island."

Eric pauses.  _ "Well, if it ain't a small world." _

"Hm. Ain't it."

_ “Har har, Mr. -” _ Eric pauses again.  _ “You never gave me a name.” _

“Jack,” Jack says, refraining from giving his surname as well. ‘Zimmermann’ isn’t a completely standard last name, afterall. For some reason he doesn’t want this stranger to realize who he is, and even if he doesn’t know anything about hockey, there’s a chance he’d recognize it. People who know nothing about the sport can usually recognize ‘Gretzky’ and ‘Crosby’, and Zimmermann - unfortunately - carries the same weight now, even if it hadn’t when his father was playing. 

Maybe he should stop doing so many advertisements. /span> 

l

(Lardo has never let him live the giant billboards of his ass in Calvin Klein briefs located in every major city down and sends him a picture of them whenever she sees one, and has somehow roped his parents into sending pictures every time they see any sort of advertisement starring Jack. Thank God his father tends to focus on the sporting ones and not the ones of Jack’s ass - he finds the Tim Horton’s ones particularly funny, though. His mother, bless her soul, sticks to the ones he’s not uncomfortable seeing, like his charity work.)

(He really,  _ really  _ doesn’t want to know how they’ll react to his ESPN Body Issue. Kent had laughed himself hoarse when he told him about it, but was quickly offended he wasn’t asked first.)

_ “Well, Mr. Jack, you don’t sound like you’re from New England either,”  _ Eric is saying.

“You got me there,” Jack concedes, rolling down his socks. “I’m from Quebec.”

_ “No room to talk about funny accents, then.” _

“Hey! I never said you had a funny accent!” Jack protests with a laugh, standing up straight. He wrinkles his nose as he pulls off his jock strap.

_ “You implied it!” _

“I did no such thing,” Jack denies, because he finds his accent rather charming. Which is a strange thing to think about a stranger; especially one he’s never seen in the flesh - will never see in the flesh, he corrects.

_ "You sure did," _ Bitty accuses. _ "Rude to me about my accent, and you haven't even given me advice…" _

“Well, that’s never happened to me before, so I couldn’t possibly give advice,” Jack says pointedly.

_ “You can try,”  _ Eric answers, putting emphasis on the last word.

“Well, my only words of advice are, if you didn’t consent or ask for it, you shouldn’t have gotten it, so...” he pauses. "And I wasn't rude about your accent."

_ "Like, if it was some Grindr thing I'd expect it, ya know? But I know him from college, and my friend thought we'd go well together - though I think my friends see a gay man and automatically think we'd go well together." _

"Yeah," Jack snorts, looking around the locker room. "Mine, too."

_ "Oh?" _

"Ha. Yeah."

Bitty laughs, a bright thing that makes a strange warmth appear in Jack's chest that has nothing to do with the game they just played. _ "I didn't want to make assumptions, of course, but no straight man would listen to me rant about a dick pic without hanging up." _

"I know plenty that would, actually."

Eric sighs.  _ "Me, too, actually.” _

“And you said you didn’t want to make assumptions.”

_ “I know, I know, I shouldn't make assumptions,"  _ Eric reiterates.

"Good job, great deduction.”

_ "I'm college educated, even if I have one year until graduation. I can deduce plenty. Brains  _ and  _ beauty, me,”  _ Eric says. He sounds like he’s smiling.

"I'm sure."

_ "I'm offended, Mr. Jack." _ He laughs. He does that often, and Jack finds he’s become rather fond of this stranger.  _ "Also, I'd never talk to a stranger for this long if he was a cisgender straight man." _

"Fair enough," Jack says, because he probably wouldn’t either.

Eric groans.  _ "My teammates are never going to let me live this down. Guess I really am a dumb jock." _

He’s suddenly very glad he didn’t give his surname. A college aged athlete living in Massachusetts would definitely recognize him.

"I bet I know a jock dumber than your entire team combined." He ignores Tater's faux wounded look. Jack ignores his obvious eavesdropping and points to Poots. Tater gives him an exaggerated nod of understanding.

_ "To be fair to them, they're not dumb jocks at all. Shitty - the friend I tried to call - is studying law at Harvard for goodness sake." _

Jack is suitably impressed. "Where do you play, then? Or, what rather?"

_ "I'm pretty sure you know more about me than the date that sent me a dick pic does," _ Bitty giggles.  _ “What do you think - should I risk telling you more about me? For all I know you’re a sixty year old man with a sketchy past.” _

Jack chuckles lowly. "I promise I’m not. I’m twenty seven, and I’m pretty sure I don’t have a sketchy past,” Jack assures him. “And It’s hardly my fault that you’ve told me a lot about yourself.”

_ "Oh, hush. If you must know, I play hockey at Samwell University, in Massachusetts." _ Jack feels his heart stutter.  _ "Captain this year, actually." _ His heart starts beating a mile a minute.

"Oh?" Jack's voice cracks for the first time since he was a teenager. Captain of an NCAA Division I team, there's no way he won't recognize Jack. He coughs and tries to make his accent less prominent. "My mother went there. I almost went there, actually. And congrats."

_ "Well, if it ain't a small world,”  _ Eric repeats. 

"It sure ain't." 

_ "Well now you're definitely chirping me." _ He completely bypasses the opening to mention that he recognizes Jack.  _ "Oh, thank gosh, Shitty's calling. It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Jack. Maybe I'll accidentally call you again some time." _

Eric hangs up. Jack stares at his phone, the ‘call ended’ flashing back at him. Barely five minutes, but the strangest phone conversation he’s ever had - possibly one of the strangest conversations he’s had, phone or otherwise. 

“I think that’s the most I’ve heard you laugh in one conversation, Cap,” Snowy snickers from his stall. Tater doesn’t even attempt to act like he wasn’t listening and shoulders up next to him.

“Who is this Eric, and why did you ignore us to talk to him?” Tater takes a whiff of Jack and scrunches his nose, taking a step back. “You smell and need to shower. Unless...” He waggles his eyebrows and leans back in. “Boyfriend?”

“Um.” Jack stares at his phone and scratches at his temple. “It was a wrong number.”

“No boyfriend?” Tater pouts, backing up all the way to his own stall. He’s unabashedly naked, and Jack is grateful for the space.

“No boyfriend,” Jack sighs, rolling his eyes. Coming out was his worst idea ever. He’s pretty sure Tater and his mother have phone calls where they just talk about his abysmal dating life, and Marty keeps winking at him if a man even glances his way when they’re out after a game.

"Then why did you talk to him for so long?" Snowy asks. It's a valid question.

"I -" Jack pauses to remove the rest of his clothes. "I don't actually know."

"Did he sound cute?"

Jack rolls his eyes. "I need to shower."

“We going out tonight, boys?” Thank God Marty doesn't show up until the conversation has already ended.

“You old, Marty, should go home.” Tater shakes his head but dodges Marty’s punch with a grin. “Past your bedtime.”

“A friend of mine recommended a place close to Cap and Tater’s building,” Poots interjects, buttoning his shirt. He, like most of the team, forgoes his tie and jacket. “It should be quiet.”

“No,” Tater gasps and holds a hand dramatically to his heart. “Poots does not have  _ friends.” _

Poots sends him an unimpressed side eye and reaches down to finish lacing his shoes. 

"If you must know, it's a guy I know from juniors." He stands up. "He was captain my first year."

"Did he go pro?" Thirdy asks from his own stall across the room.

"Nah, played in college, blew his knee out. Graduated a couple years back." Poots is starting to look uncomfortable, not used to the attention of the entire team. He isn't a rookie anymore, but he still isn't the most gregarious; Jack sends him a small smile as he passes by him on his way to the showers.

"Leave him alone, boys," he calls over his shoulder, seeing a grateful Poots from the side of his eye. Guy sends him an approving nod as well, which always makes him feel like a child who got a good grade on a test he studied really hard for, even though technically Jack is  _ his _ captain.

"One more question," Tater pleads.

"Fine," Poots sighs, because they’ve all learned the only way to get Tater to stop is to humor him.

"I just want to know where he went to college."

"Samwell," Poots replies, turning to grab his bag. "It's about 45 minutes from here."

Jack had stopped completely. Bitty's words echo in his head.  _ 'If it ain't a small world.' _

“Why are they in Providence then?”

“Holster and his partner moved here after college,” Poot shrugs. “Now can I go?”

Jack is still stood in the entrance to the showers.

_« __You alright, Zimms? __»_ Marty's Québécois is always oddly comforting.

Jack coughs. _« __Je vais bien, merci. __»_ He switches back to English and turns to face Poots. "My mother went to Samwell. Small world, eh?"

“I heard their hockey team’s pretty good,” Thirdy adds. 

Jack just shrugs and finishes his journey to the showers.

_ Tabernak. _

_/\\_

"Will your friend be here, Poots?"

"It's Friday night, so probably."

Tater fist pumps at the same time Jack's stomach sinks.

"Why are you so excited about Poots having friends, Tater?" Snowy laughs. 

He shrugs in response. "Why not?"

Snowy pauses before shrugging back. "Can't argue with that, I guess." 

The bar they arrive at is a small hole in the wall and Jack likes it almost immediately. It isn't extremely crowded when they enter, but a large blond man shouts Poots's name as soon he walks in. It’s always strange to hear different nicknames for his teammates, but he supposes ‘Fitz’ is a lot more welcome than ‘Poots’.

"Jesus, Holster, why are you always so loud?" The redhead beside him looks fondly exasperated. Jack knows that feeling most intimately, what with the teammates he has.

"You saw that filthy goal in the third, Dex, why wouldn't I be loud?"

The redhead - Dex - rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

"Also he looks mighty fine in that shirt," Holster leers.

"Stop harassing Poots, Holster," chides a man with a rather impressive 'stash. He doesn't even look up, too busy staring at his phone. Though apparently the nickname granted to him by the Falcs in his rookie year  _ has  _ been adopted by his other friends. It makes Jack feel oddly proud, even though Poots is probably wishing that wasn’t the case.

Holster presses a smacking kiss on Poots' cheek before turning to the rest of the group who've entered; he freezes.

"Poots, what the fuck?” he hisses without turning his head. “Why didn't you tell me you were bringing the  _ Providence Falconers?" _

Poots looks at him strangely. "You…do know I play for them, correct?"

"Absolutely irrelevant. You don’t count. I've known you since you were sixteen, that's  _ Alexei fucking Mashkov.  _ Rans is gonna be so pissed he missed this."

"I like this one," Tater laughs loudly. "Good size, makes fun of little Poots, has good taste in players."

Poots' expression turns sour. Holster pats him on the back in faux sympathy.

"I regret my choices,” Poots sighs, heading straight to the bar. Jack follows him but his attention is caught by the bulletin board to the left of the door; he’s never been good at meeting people, and he’s exhausted enough as it is. He’s fine letting Tater take control, his extroverted nature most often making up for Jack’s more reserved personality.

"You meet rest now, yes?" Tater wraps a large hand around Holster's bicep and tugs him along. Dex and the man with the mustache stay sitting, Dex looking interested but not interested enough to stop nursing his beer.

“Uh -” Holster is gaping slightly, but trying valiantly to hide it.

"This is Marty and Thirdy,” he starts, gesturing towards them. “They both old men,” he adds in a stage whisper. “This is Snowy, he is goalie, so you can know he is strange." Snowy doesn't even bother to protest that. Tater looks around, presumably for Jack, who's been distracted by a sign for trivia night. "Zimmboni is hiding. Zimmboni, come here.”

Jack startles slightly at his shout. 

“Sorry, I got distracted by, um.” He winces as he walks over to join them. He can already hear the team making fun of him but gestures towards the sign anyway. “There’s a sign for trivia night.”

“Every Wednesday,” the guy with the mustache says, finally looking up from his phone. “Free to the public, though there’s a suggested donation.”

Tater huffed. “Zimmboni is a nerd, he is lucky he is so handsome and talented.”

_ « He keeps trying to set you up, but are we sure he’s not into you? »  _ Marty whispers to Jack. 

Jack hums.  _ « He does spend a lot of time complimenting me. » _

_ « You not into that? »  _ Marty gestures to where Tater is pouting at them for speaking French.  _ «For shame. » _

_ « I promise to let him down easy, » _ Jack responds with a small grin. He joins Tater and Holster before sticking out his hand. “Hey, I’m Jack. Nice to meet you.”

Holster has a look on his face that Jack has become used to, like he’s done something to earn awe. People getting starstruck over him is so strange, even now.

“Huge fan of your work with the LGBT community,” he says in a rush, gripping Jack’s hand tightly. That’s not exactly what Jack thought he was going to say, but he smiles. Coming out had been more difficult than he could have predicted, but knowing he helped even  _ one  _ person makes it worth it. “I never thought there would be an out player in the NHL in my lifetime, let alone Calder, Stanley Cup, Hart, and whatever fucking else winner  _ Jack fucking Zimmermann _ .”

“You forget  Conn Smythe and Art Ross,” Tater points out. Holster lets go of his hand and Jack resists the urge to flex and make sure his fingers are all still working.

“Ted Lindsay,” Snowy coughs into his fist. 

“ _ Criss _ , please,” Jack interrupts before they can list every award he’s won and record he’s broken. 

“You captain, have to make sure people know.” A smirk always looks strange on Tater’s face, but there’s a chance he’s thinking about trying to set him up with Poots’ friend and Jack is way too tired for that; especially considering he’d mentioned Holster having a partner.

“Oh, we know,” Dex grins. He seems nervous but more put together than Holster. It’s refreshing. “I’m Dex, by the way.”

“Jack,” Jack nods, grateful for the obvious deviation in topic.

“No, no, we not done making Zimmboni blush.”

“Guys,  _ please.”  _ He knows he’s whining, and his blush can probably be seen from space. He drags a hand down his face like he can hide it.

_ « Oh, let them, »  _ Marty laughs. Jack punches him in the shoulder but he just laughs. “No wonder you’ve never won the Lady Byng, with your lack of sportsmanship. Hitting an old man.”

“Anyway!” Jack says loudly because Tater is definitely about to continue his oration. “Would anyone like a drink?”

The guy with the mustache - the only one who hasn’t been introduced - follows him to the bar after the rousing yeses from everyone gathered.

“I know my guys’ orders,” he explains. “Easier than having to remember them.”

Jack nods. “Thanks.”

“I didn’t introduce myself, I apologize. My friend was having a small crisis.” His mustache twitches in amusement but he sticks out a hand. “Call me Shitty.”

Jack hopes Shitty doesn’t notice the hesitation before he grasps his hand; somehow Jack manages to stifle his slightly manic laughter and wonders if the friend having a crisis was in fact Eric. He’s been called a crisis a few times in his life, to be fair to him, but the incident with the dick pic probably trumps the incident with Jack.

“Call me Jack," he says.

“Sorry about Holster, he does a lot of work with organizations for LGBT kids - kinda like You Can Play, coaching and teaching - and you coming out changed the game, so to speak.”

Jack waves a hand. “No worries. If he wants - I don’t want to assume anything - but um.” Jack taps his fingers against his collarbone, a nervous tick he’d picked up after he broke it his sophomore year. “I did a lot of charity work after I got out of rehab, and I coached a kid’s team for a while, so I can stop by sometime.”

“You’d really kill your teammate’s friend like that?” Shitty grins. 

Jack looks down, fingers now tugging at the collar of his shirt. "I like working with kids. They don't have…expectations, even if their parents do. Don't have to explain yourself to them."

Shitty turns to him as the bartender prepares their drinks. "Bet you have a lot of people expect things from you."

Jack laughs slightly. "I like to think I've done a pretty good job of defying a few expectations."

"Well, I didn't expect you to be interested in trivia night," Shitty points out, pulling his wallet from his pocket and facing the bartender again.

Jack knocks away his card when he tries to pay. “I offered, I’ll get this round.”

"You just ordered water, though."

"I don't drink," Jack confesses. Shitty doesn’t ask him why, just nods, which he’s grateful for. Telling Shitty he did charity after rehab is a little different than explaining the way alcohol makes it too easy; the way he’ll always be susceptible to addiction. "Water is fine.”

“If you don’t drink you shouldn’t have to buy drinks for a bunch of loudmouth hockey players.”

"I'm used to it," Jack says. “And, well. I’m good for it.”

“Ah, to be a millionaire athlete,” Shitty grins, finally relenting and putting his wallet away.

“Being paid millions to play a game  _ is  _ pretty ridiculous,” Jack agrees. He shuffles his feet and thumbs at a paper coaster on the bar top. “I give a lot of it away.” It feels like more of a confession than disclosing that he doesn’t drink. “Almost all of the money from my sponsorship deals goes to a couple charities I work with if it isn't invested for when I retire. That's why I do so many."

Shitty turns to him. “Dear God, man.”

“What?”

“Are you single?”

The change in topic gives him a bit of whiplash.

“Yes?” Jack furrows his brows. “...is that an offer?”

Shitty sighs dramatically. "No, my fair Zimmermann. I am tragically heterosexual.” He hums and nods to himself. “Though I  _ am _ comfortable enough that I can admit your ass is life changing."

Jack looks at the floor with a flush. He still isn’t used to compliments about his body, even if he gets paid thousands of dollars to show off said life changing ass. 

"I was mostly just wondering," Shitty continues, "Because you're pretty much the ideal man."

"Ideal?”   


“Yeah, dude.” Shitty takes a sip of his beer before setting it down so he can use his fingers to list things off. “You’re nice, you give to charity, you’re stacked as hell, you got cheekbones that could cut glass, and not to mention you’re okay with a stick.”

“I’m boring and standoffish and awkward around people I don’t know.” He pauses his verbatim repetition of things people have told him to tilt his head thoughtfully. “And people I do know as well.”

“Well, whoever told you that is wrong and I’ll fight them.”

“Lot of people you’ll need to fight.”

Shitty flexes his bicep exaggeratingly. “I can take ‘em.”

“Talk to Tater, he’ll help you,” Jack chuckles, strangely flattered.

Shitty points a finger at him. “You jest, Mr. Zimmermann, but I refuse to let anyone get away with being rude to my friends.”

Jack pauses taking a sip of his water. "Are we?"

“Are we what?” Shitty looks confused, like it’s normal for him to make friends in the five minutes it takes to order drinks.

“Friends.” 

He’s not used to making friends. He’s used to being on a team and slowly becoming friends with them, he’s used people liking said teammates and slowly integrating him into their friend group.

He really isn’t sure how he got here. 

"Punch in your digits dude.” Shitty hands Jack his phone. “Promise not to send you any nudes."

Jack rolls his eyes to cover his nerves but put his number in Shitty's phone anyway. "I see enough naked heterosexual men in the locker room as it is."

Shitty holds out a fist that is somehow understanding; Jack meets it gently before turning to grab the tray of drinks off the bar.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: non graphic transphobia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! This chapter is a bit shorter and discusses Bitty's experiences as a trans man! I'm a trans man, and like. It may seem a bit on the nose, but this is a reality for us! 
> 
> This fic won't focus a lot on transphobia/Bitty's gender, but! It's important to Bitty's character.

Bitty sighs and stares at the ceiling in his room. He plays with his phone mindlessly and worries his bottom lip between his teeth; he’s lamenting, even he can recognize that. He quietly sings  _ Another One Bites the Dust _ under his breath because he thinks he’s funny before sighing again.

He’s not  _ afraid  _ of love or commitment, per say. He wants to be in a relationship, he wants that connection, wants to fall asleep and wake up next to the same man for the rest of his life. He wants to raise a family, get a pet or two. Have someone that loves him irrevocably and that he loves just as much. But it’s starting to look like he’ll never get that.

_ Wow, dramatic much? It’s not like he was your one true love. _

But it’s the principle of the thing. It’s  _ always  _ the principle of the thing.

He’s not ashamed of being trans. He takes pride in it, and he’s open about it. His family knows, even if it took them a little while to understand it, and his team and coaches know. Everyone important knows, and oftentimes he doesn’t even deny it if people ask. He may be slight, but he’s not weak; it also helps that he’s surrounded by burly, 200 pound hockey players who would kill a transphobe for him.

But almost every cis guy he’s been set up with ended up nope-ing straight out of there when confronted with the fact that, no, he wasn’t joking, and no, he very much couldn’t send a dick pic back. Bitty can quote the standard ‘how do I say I’m not okay with trans people without seeming transphobic’ break up that ensues almost perfectly.

He unlocks his phone and rereads the text he got from Ryan. 

**[Bryan]: ** Sorry, I don’t think it’s going to work out. It’s nothing personal, I’m just not sure I’m ready for something like this. Hope we can still be friends! - Bryan

Oh. Not Ryan. Bryan, then.

The perfect punctuation, the lack of emojis. He even  _ signed  _ it for goodness sake.

He didn’t even attempt to make it look like it was the relationship he isn’t ready for. Bitty rolls his eyes.

**[To Bryan]:** Thanks for letting me know, wish you the best!

His Aunt Judy would be pleased with the passive aggressiveness if nothing else. 

He thumbs through his phone, hesitating over his Twitter app before going to his contacts. He only feels slightly guilty for having saved his number.

**[To Jack]:** not to sound dramatic or like im trying to be poetic, but do you ever feel like you’re drowning in expectations?

He presses send quickly and immediately regrets it. Jack never said he’s okay with a stranger texting him, let alone a stranger who’s  _ lamenting.  _ Who’s lying in bed in an empty house, trying not to think about the fact that he has no one to talk to. Jack already knows too much about Bitty as it is.

He begins to type out a second message, but before he can send another text apologizing he receives a response.

**[Jack]:** All the time.

It’s short and concise, and Bitty winces, finally getting around to sending the text he meant to send before Jack responded.

**[To Jack]: ** sorry i texted you 

Jack doesn’t respond, but Bitty is nothing if not a double texter.

**[To Jack]: ** i shouldn’t have

**[Jack]:** It's okay, I'm just out with friends. I don’t mind. 

Ah, fuck. Bitty lets out a quiet groan. Of course he’s out with friends, of course Bitty’s interrupting a fun Friday night. That’s what he does, huh? Brings the mood down with his  _ bullshit. _

**[Jack]:** I’m assuming this is Eric?

Apparently Jack had done the decent thing and not saved Eric’s number.

**[To Jack]:** it is!!! i’m so sorry, i wont bother u while ur out!! I really shouldn’t have messaged u at all. I’m sorry!

How many apologies is too much before it gets embarrassing?

**[Jack]:** No, no, don’t apologize. I really don’t mind. They're drinking and I'm exhausted and much too sober for their antics.

Oh, dear Lord. The boy texts with punctuation and real words, and says things like ‘much too sober for their antics’. 

**[To Jack]:** DD?

**[Jack]:** No, I just don't drink much. 

**[Jack]:** Or at all, actually.

**[To Jack]:** is there a reason?

Oh, jeesh. Shitty and his mother would be so ashamed of him. He’s ashamed of  _ himself.  _

**[To Jack]: ** i’m so sorry that was so nosy 

Bitty rests his phone on his forehead, hoping he could erase the entire conversation with the power of his brain. Before he can invent time travel his phone buzzes again, dropping off his forehead and hitting his nose on the way down. He rubs at his nose as he reads Jack’s message.

**[Jack]:** Ha, it's fine, I don't mind. It’s not really a secret. 

**[To Jack]: ** that still didn’t give me a right to ask.

**[Jack]: ** Thank you, Eric. Few people either a) don’t already know, or b) have any qualms with asking.

Qualms?

_ Qualms? _

He said he was 27, but there’s no way a 27 year old would use qualms in a text. Jack texts like Bitty’s mama. He  _ has  _ to be a sixty year old man.

**[Jack]:** When I was 18 I overdosed on prescription anxiety medication. Drinking isn’t fun enough to be worth the risk.

His heart shouldn’t break at Jack’s suffering the way it is; he’s never met the guy, doesn’t know anything truly about his life, doesn’t know what he looks like.

**[To Jack]:** Thank you for telling me.

**[Jack]:** I can't say I'm over it, but I've come to terms with it. 

**[Jack]:** It’s taken me years to be able to talk about it openly, actually.

Bitty is honored, genuinely. He knows what it’s like to come to terms with something that’s taboo to discuss, things people expect you to be ashamed about. 

**[To Jack]** : I’m still honored you trusted me with this.

Bitty winces. Shitty is definitely better at this kind of thing.

**[To Jack]:** that sounds terrible when i say it

**[Jack]:** ??

**[To Jack]:** that’s my friend’s ‘go to’ when people come out to him.

**[Jack]:** Ha, lucky. My friend just laughed at me when I came out because apparently liking people of all genders just makes it more pathetic that I’m single.

Bitty raises a brow at Jack’s use of ‘all genders’.

**[Jack]:** He’s Russian and speaks broken English and is currently sitting drunkenly by my side, reiterating how pathetic I am. 

Bitty giggles slightly, accidentally charmed by Jack’s Russian friend.

**[To Jack]: ** *crying laughing emoji* *crying laughing emoji*

**[To Jack]: ** tell him i say hello

**[Jack]: ** Definitely not.

**[To Jack]:** *crying emoji* *crying emoji*

**[Jack]:** ;-)

Absolutely not. Jack absolutely does not add noses to his smiley faces (not even emojis, because of course he doesn’t use emojis), because if he did, Bitty would have to think he’s a cutie, and he absolutely cannot think Jack’s a cutie.

Bitty groans and barely manages not to turn and bury a scream into his pillow. Except he  _ does  _ think Jack’s a cutie. 

**[Jack]:** Not to pressure you, but you seemed upset when you texted. Is everything okay?

No, everything’s not okay. Because Bitty’s completely forgotten about Ryan or Bryan or whatever his name is; he’s turned into that gay that crushes on every not-straight guy that seems at all nice. He shakes his head and turns back to his phone.

**[To Jack]:** oh, it’s silly

**[Jack]: ** If you feel it, it’s not silly.

If there was a camera in his room, Bitty would definitely be looking into it right now. Who  _ was  _ this guy?

**[To Jack]:** bryan (dick pic guy) ‘broke up’ with me

**[Jack]:** I’m sorry.

Somehow, Bitty can tell there’s sincerity in the message. Like Jack really is sorry, like he genuinely cares that Bitty may actually be upset.

He bites at a hangnail before sighing. May as well get this over with.

**[To Jack]:** i don’t mind, really. It's more of WHY he broke up with me.

**[Jack]:** Was it because you didn’t want to send a nude back?

Jack’s not  _ wrong.  _ That  _ is  _ what started the conversation.

**[To Jack]:** sorta kinda? 

**[To Jack]:** siiiiigh 

**[Jack]: ** You don’t have to tell me.

**[To Jack]:** he broke up w me bc i’m trans

There’s no point in mincing his words. Jack will either accept him or not, and he’s done with wasting his breath trying to convince people to accept him.

Jack leaves him on read for a few minutes, though, and Bitty can feel his heart in his stomach. He doesn’t know Jack at all, doesn’t know how he’ll react. Texting him tonight was probably the stupidest thing he’s done in…possibly three hours.

He’s almost turned off his phone when it buzzes once more.

**[Jack]:** Excuse my language, but fuck that guy.

That startles a laugh out of Bitty.

**[Jack]:** I haven’t known you that long, but you deserve better than some guy like that.

Bitty covers his eyes with his hand. He suddenly wishes one of the other boys were home instead of in Providence for the night to fetch him some smelling salts, because he’s about to pass out.

**[To Jack]:** siiiigh x2

**[Jack]:** You can talk about it, if you’d like. I know it can be easier to talk to someone you don’t really know, even if I can’t really empathize.

Bitty takes a deep breath and manages to convince himself that Jack means it, means he’ll listen and won’t judge. He’s never told anyone any of this, though, so it almost physically hurts to do so.

**[To Jack]: ** its…..fine

**[To Jack]:** well no. it’s not fine

**[To Jack]:** but it happens a lot?

**[To Jack]:** and people just…….expect me to be okay with it?????

**[To Jack]:** and im not allowed to be mad

**[To Jack]:** and no one really knows that it happens bc i cant complain bc people have it worse? 

**[To Jack]:** bc i pass and ive had top surgery and i play hockey and live in a hockey frat house so it /cant/ be transphobic bc im just a standard twink, right????? 

**[To Jack]:** So i just……….don’t tell people

Bitty can’t even imagine saying those words out loud. He’s always been a grin and bear it kind of guy, but there’s something about Jack - even beside the fact that he doesn’t know him - that makes him want to be honest.

**[Jack]: ** I can't empathize with you personally because I'm cis, and I don’t want to act like I know exactly what you’re going through, but I’ve been through enough therapy to know how to lend an ear if you ever need it.

‘Lend an ear’. Christ above, who uses ‘lend an ear’ in a text? 

**[To Jack]:** thank you. 

**[Jack]:** I mean it, Bittle.

Bitty blows out a breath. Who’s this stranger, willing to listen to him whine?

**[To Jack]:** It’s really fine, u don’t have to listen to my ranting

**[Jack]:** It isn’t fine, and I’m offering. 

He blows out another breath, this one more deliberate. He’s not used to talking about it, to not hide how he’s feeling. 

What did it say about him that the person he's been the most honest with in months was a stranger he'd never meet? 

**[To Jack]:** like i said. expectations. to dress a certain way, to not be upset when im misgendered or deadnamed, to have the same relationship with gender as a cis guy, to just. be how society says i should be.

**[Jack]:** I'm not going to lie and say I know exactly how it feels. But I do know what it's like to have expectations thrust upon you (both regarding my sexuality and other aspects, such as mental health), and it's not fair at all that you're expected to be MORE because you were assigned incorrectly at birth.

Tears prickle the back of Bitty’s eyes.  _ This boy... _

**[To Jack]:** you're going to make me cry *crying emoji*

**[Jack]:** Is that a good thing?

**[To Jack]:** a GREAT thing. tonight sucked but you, Mr. Jack, made it a lot better. 

**[To Jack]:** I wish I could bake you a pie

**[Jack]:** A pie?

**[To Jack]:** I make amazing pies, i’ll have u know

**[Jack]:** I'll take your word for it.

**[Jack]:** I have to go - my friends are leaving and I should probably help them get home. Feel free to text me tomorrow, and I hope you feel better. 

**[To Jack]:** I feel much better, thank you. Good night, Mr. Jack!

**[Jack]:** _Bonne nuit, Monsieur Eric._  
  



End file.
